


A Familiar Love

by ms bricolage (onefootforward)



Category: Stitchers (TV)
Genre: Domestic, F/M, Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-01
Updated: 2016-08-01
Packaged: 2018-07-28 13:33:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,393
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7642642
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/onefootforward/pseuds/ms%20bricolage
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>***2018.05.18 EDIT ****</p><p>They’re in the middle of checking out when Cameron notices. “Wait, why do you need two hazelnut spreads?”</p><p>Their clerk scans the first one. Kirsten waits until she’s got the second one in her hands before saying, “Well, one for my place, one for yours.”</p><p>“I already have some at my place.”</p><p>“No you don’t.”</p><p>Cameron halts, a tomato in his hand. “What do you mean I don’t? I just bought one last month.”</p><p>Kirsten plucks the tomato from his hands and puts it on the conveyer belt.</p><p>“That was last month,” she says, when Cameron doesn’t move.</p><p>“Who goes through that much hazelnut in a month?”</p><p>“It was a very stressful month.”</p><p> </p><p>Or another one of those five + one fics: five times Kirsten and Cameron acted like a couple, and one time they actually were.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Familiar Love

**Author's Note:**

> hey folks! i'm new to the fandom, but a bit of a die-hard anyway. this is a fic for seriouslyobsessed over on tumblr, for the stitchmas in july! i'm just making it in time for the deadline ahaha. you wanted something happy and fluffy and honestly, the only way i could do that was to pretend that the solution to current canon problems was SO GOOD that it no longer factors into kirsten and cameron's life. shhhhhh. this is not a fix-it fic. this is...post fix-it fic.
> 
> *** 2018.05.18 EDIT ****
> 
> so i've come to realize that this fic has been posted...while being cut off halfway. WHOOPS. sorry everyone. apparently putting fish emoticon in the body of the text causes the text afterwards to just NOT BE THERE. there's literally another three-four pieces of this. thanks for the people that pointed it out to me when i first posted, i definitely don't know what i was on that i didn't actually NOTICE until today. so yeah. many many months later and it's finally finished.

“I don’t like this.”

Kirsten grimaces. “I’m not exactly,” a groan, “ _fond_ of it myself.”

She curls around the porcelain lid and closes her eyes. Maybe if she just tells her brain enough times that this whole thing is _ridiculous_ and _not real_ and _seriously can you get your shit together_ it will get the message.

Another wave of nausea washes through her and she scrambles forward over the toilet bowl. _Message not received._

She stares down the barrel as absolutely nothing happens, just the persistent and grossly irrational urge to upheave that keeps roiling around in her gut. Which makes sense because she’s already _hurled_ the single coffee she managed to stomach this morning.

“God,” she whispers, “I am getting a _great_ ab work out.”

 There’s something cold placed against her neck and she blinks up at Cameron.

“Thanks,” she says, leaning into the compress. Cameron keeps his hand pressed to the other side for a beat too long and Kirsten tries for a smile.

Cameron frowns instead. “I _really_ don’t like this. There’s no reason that you should’ve inherited Fallon’s illness from the stitch.”

“Try telling my brain that.”

He feels her forehead. “Fever too.”

“Everything _but_ the actual virus itself,” she points out. “I’m going to be fine. Ayo said so.”

“Of all the things to linger in your conscious…”

“You’re telling me.” She winces. Fallon actually _died_ from the illness, although Ayo figures that was more from the virus than the bodies reaction to it. Kirsten just gets stuck with her brain telling her to body to fight off an _imaginary attack_ , and what’s essentially turned into the flu on steroids. “Thanks for staying with me. Camille’s out of town on some super secret assignment that Maggie and Fischer have her on, and I…”

She trails off. Cameron settles in next to her.

“You didn’t want to be alone. That’s normal.”

Kirsten doesn’t say _not for me_ or _I’ve been alone my whole life and just fine until you came into the picture._ Being sick over a toilet bowl is just, sort of not the right moment for those things. Instead she smiles weakly and turns to press her forehead to the lid, where it’s still a bit cooler.

“Well,” she says, inspecting the underside of the bowl, which has been her other companion for the last several hours, “I’m _really_ happy you’re a neat freak.”

Cameron laughs. “Better the bathroom that you know, right?”

“God no,” Kirsten closes her eyes again, “I’m positive I would rather be here than at my place. Between me and Camille we probably clean the house once…once a month at least.”

“That is disgusting.”

“I said at _least_.”

“Still disgusting.” There’s a hand smoothing over her back and Kirsten makes some sort of positive noise because Cameron chuckles softly and keeps doing it. “I’m getting you two cleaning supplies for Christmas.”

Kirsten hums absently. “No, you’re getting me that new phone with the tap recording, remember.”

“Ah, right.”

“Birthday.”

“An entire bouquet of Lysol.”

“Hm,” Kirsten smiles, “sounds good.”

 

 

 

 

 “No, that’s not right.”

“…Yes it is.”

“It says _part E_. That’s…something. I don’t know. Are you sure that’s even from the right box?”

“It’s from _this_ box.”

“Maybe these are the wrong directions.”

“ _Oh my_ —give me the instructions Cameron.”

Cameron huffs. “As if. Which one of us is the neuroscientist in this room?”

“And which one of us,” Kirsten snaps, “knows how to match _shapes_ to _pictures_?”

“It’s IKEA furniture. You’re not supposed to be able to match it all together on the first try.” Cameron says defensively.

Kirsten debates taking the piece in her hands and shoving it into Cameron’s face. She must twitch an eye or something that gives it away because Cameron rocks back in his seat and pulls the instructions protectively to his chest.

“None of that Ms. Death Glare. You were the one who said we needed a desk in here in the first place.”

She drops part _whatever_ she has in her hands and settles back into the centre of what’s turned into an absolute _mass_ of chaos. “All I said was that you could _use_ a desk in here if we were going to bring case files back to your place.”

“If you weren’t such a work-a-holic—”

“Oh _I’m_ the work-a-holic.”

“Yes,” Cameron says primly, “you are.”

This time she _does_ whip the part at him, albeit a bit left of her intended spot. It sails over his shoulder. Kirsten fights every iota of the impulse to laugh.

Cameron doesn’t—he bursts out laughing, flopping backwards over the couch. “Fine,” he says between giggles, “we’re _both_ work-a-holics. It makes us a perfect set.”

Kirsten ducks her head, smiling. “Yeah, well, you _do_ need the desk.”

“And that’s still not part E.”

“You _suck_.”

Cameron says, “IKEA sucks. I ordered most of my other furniture in, and some burly man built it for me.”

“We’re trying to wean you off of the rich people lifestyle, remember?” Kirsten sighs, picking up another piece with the vague intention of trying to screw it in…somewhere. “You were complaining about your mother—”

“Whom I love,” Cameron interjects.

“Who you love,” Kirsten adds dutifully, “but who you don’t want to turn into, Mr. Rich Heiress Boy.”

“I’m pretty sure it’s just rich _heir_ for me. And it’s not like I actually inherit anything.”

She continues over him, “And then _I_ said ‘well, if you’re going to live like the rest of us, you’re going to have to give up your _downtown loft in LA_ ’ and you were _really_ against that, so, compromise—IKEA.”

Part E _is_ on the ground by her feet, and Kirsten picks it up with a triumphant _aha_. By the time she figures to glance up at Cameron he’s smiling down at her, something vulnerable in the soft expression on his face.

“What?” she huffs defensively. This time she’s _positive_ it’s the right piece.

He blinks. “Nothing, nothing. It’s just—nothing.”

“Cameron.”

“Seriously, I was just thinking of—something completely off topic. More importantly, I’m pretty sure that bit you threw at my head is the next one we need.” Cameron glances over his shoulder where, presumably, part F landed.

Kirsten throws her face into her hands and groans. “I _inherited_ most of my furniture. This is ridiculous.”

“IKEA.”

“Store invented by Satan, more likely.”

 

 

 

 

It’s not the baby itself that’s a surprise, it’s the presence of the baby _in Kirsten’s home_ that’s really throwing her.

“No.”

Cameron startles.

“I did _not_ give you a key for this,” she continues, locking the door behind her—it feels like she’s already given up, but you can’t just leave your house open when there is a _baby_ in it. “I gave you a key for emergencies and so you could crash here when they were doing all that construction on your block.”

“This is an emergency,” Cameron says, gesturing to the baby, who is clearly a _baby._

“No,” Kirsten says slowly, “that is something for child services to deal with.”

“Child services would start a whole process—if you can see in the stitch who she was running from…”

Kirsten stares. Stares some more. Sort of hopes that if she _keeps staring_ the image of Cameron in her family home with a very cute _baby_ will stop bleaching itself onto her brain. Cameron, sitting on her couch, bouncing a very adorable, very happy baby on his knee, like some weird twisted version of a ninety’s most-wholesome television ad.

Nope, no luck.

“Right, so you want to wait out the refractory period with the mob’s most wanted baby _here_ because…what, your apartment was so terrible?” she asks, too sidetracked with _Cameron_ and _baby._

B a b y.

Oh dear.

“My apartment just seemed, I don’t know, weird? To have a baby in,” Cameron says reasonably, as if this situation is _anything but_ , “And you have this big house. Plus, I mean, I knew you would be here.”

“I don’t know anything about babies.”

Cameron laughs. “Yeah, but two heads are better than one, right? And this way I get to make sure you’re getting enough rest in between stitches. It’s a short refractory period this time.”

The baby—Lila, it’s Lila, Kirsten knows this because she stitched into Lila’s mothers head today and discovered that there was a hidden baby in the first place—giggles a little, reaching out to try and swipe Cameron’s glasses. Cameron reels back, smiling absently, making Lila giggle all over again.

“She’s actually a pretty easy going kid,” he continues, “I mean, for someone who was shoved into a duffle bag to hide from her frightening con father—”

“Okay, okay, I get your point.” Kirsten sighs. “The baby can stay until the next stitch.”

Cameron wraps his hands around Lila’s and does a little mock cheer with the both of them. Kirsten dies. “Excellent!”

A few hours later, as well as several short lived arguments over the relative goodness of organized crime, and Lila has fallen asleep on Cameron’s shoulder. Cameron’s head is tipped over against Kirsten’s, the light rhythm of his inhale and exhale sounding right next to her ear. She’s in the middle of using her free hand to text Fischer a list of things she needs for emergency baby care when Camille walks through the door.

Camille stops cold, halfway through the entranceway. Kirsten, already expecting the litany, holds up her hand with the phone in it and nods down at Cameron.

“One sec,” she whispers, when Camille doesn’t do anything but gape.

 

 **FISH** : what is “emergency baby”???

 **ME** : yeah, i had to ask myself that one too.

 **FISH** : Maggie just read this over my shoulder and stormed off. Should you be worried?

 **ME** : probably

 **ME** : look, can you just go out and get the list?

 **ME:** we're dealing with the emergency baby, so i feel like you already win.

 **FISH** : Fair enough. This probably isn’t in the LAPD’s budget.

 **ME** : it better be in the NSA’s

 **ME** : also bring ur phone with u so i can delete all these texts from ur history

 **FISH** : C U SOON.

 **ME** : funny.

 

Kirsten puts down her phone and pinches the bridge of her nose, taking a deep breath before craning to look at Camille. Cameron shifts a little with the movement, digging into her shoulder, and in his lap Lila gurgles softly.

“Before you say anything just know that the emergency baby wasn’t _my_ idea.” Kirsten hisses.

Camille is grinning like a loon. “Oh my _god_.”

“Neither was the nap.”

“Are you aware,” Camille says, “that you are stroking Cameron’s hair?”

Kirsten blinks and turns to look at her—yes, her traitorous other hand, which is indeed threading itself casually through Cameron’s hair. Making it even a bigger mess than usual. It’s also _really_ soft. Kirsten’s always sort of wanted to do this—

—and Camille is still watching.

“Of course,” Kirsten lies.

“Slander,” Camille says, but it’s soft and without heat. Kirsten keeps winding her fingers through his hair, only mildly guilty feeling a little sleepy herself. She slept pretty poorly the night before, not knowing what the make of all the incoherent snapshots from Ruby’s memories until this morning, when they’d found Lila in some of her old stuff. It was all very—sketchy. Sketchy stuff.

Kirsten yawns. “We can talk about this later, right?”

“ _This_ meaning how you and Cameron basically look like the cutest, youngest new parents who _aren’t actually dating yet_?”

She grimaces at the _yet._ “All of that, sure.”

“Yeah, definitely doing deets tomorrow.”

“Fischer is on his way over in a bit with some supplies for Lila. Are you going to be home?” She asks, hoping to distract Camille.

It works, sort of. Camille grins. “Fischy is coming by? Rockin’. I’ll whip us up some pasta, some wine, toast the newlyweds—”

“ _Camille_.”

“I’m going, I’m going.” Camille reaches over and pats Kirsten on the head. “Seriously, this is _ridiculously_ adorable. You two have got to get your shit together.”

Kirsten doesn’t dignify this with an actual answer, just another long, pointed yawn. Camille laughs softly and takes the hint, sauntering off to her room. Kirsten closes her eyes, everything on her mental checklist taken care of, and relaxes into the warm body heat at her side.

(Camille only _sort of_ take the hint, in that the next morning Kirsten finds her wallpaper changed to a picture of her and Cameron dozing off together, heads bent towards one another, Lila in Cameron’s lap. Kirsten saves it and doesn’t tell _anyone_.)

 

 

 

 

 **MILLIE** : i vote for ghostbusters

 **MILLIE** : women + sci fi + special effects up the wahoo

 **ME** : the wahoo?

 **MILLIE** : the WAHOO

 **LINUS** - **BO** - **BINUS** : ><>

 **MILLIE** : i am not seeing finding dory a g a i n

 **ME** : yeah cameron’s already seen it twice

 **LINUS** - **BO** - **BINUS** : But we haven’t seen it as a group!

 **LINUS** - **BO** - **BINUS** : Group bonding!

 **LINUS** - **BO** - **BINUS** : ft. adorable fish and tears!

 **ME** : cameron says no

 **MILLIE** : doesn’t cameron have his phone on him?

 **ME** : he’s in the middle of some fish game idk it’s important

 **ME** : oh he’s reading over my shoulder now

 **ME** : it’s apparently called cod

 **ME** : see, fish game

 **LINUS** - **BO** - **BINUS** : I am shaking my head at you two.

 **MILLIE:** that’s adorable

 **MILLIE:** ask him about ghostbusters

 **ME:** he says star trek?

 **ME:** i like ghostbusters

 **ME:** not ghosts though

 **LINUS-BO-BINUS:** You don’t believe in ghosts.

 **MILLIE:** and i don’t believe in star trek

 **MILLIE:** c’mon kirsten, love of my life, heart of my soul

 **MILLIE:** etc. etc.

 **MILLIE:** be the deciding vote

 **MILLIE:** GHOSTBUSTERS

 **ME:** well i erkjadsf

 **ME:** kljisda

 **LINUS-BO-BINUS:** for the record, fd > g

 **MILLIE:** for the sake of our friendship i’ll pretend you didn’t just type that to me

 **MILLIE:** kate mckinnon!

 **LINUS-BO-BINUS:** You’ve already seen it though!

 **MILLIE:** GROUP BONDING LINUS

 **MILLIE:** YOU SAID SO URSELF

 **LINUS-BO-BINUS:** Well that’s only when the argument is working out in my favour.

 **MILLIE:** WHO U GONNA CALL

 **MILLIE:** it’s about a lab of four people working against the odds on technology most people wouldn’t believe even exists let alone actually works

 **MILLIE:** we’re basically the ghostbusters

 **ME:** this is cameron now

 **ME:** first of all, call of duty is a game, not a fish

 **ME:** second of all

 **ME:** i am against anything linus says

 **LINUS-BO-BINUS:** Don’t you have your own phone?

 **MILLIE:** come on u two, ur setting urself up for so many comments

 **MILLIE:** it’s too easy

 **MILLIE:** how did you even get into kirsten’s phone?

 **ME:** she left it unlocked

 **BRAIN MAN:** this is kirsten. 

**BRAIN MAN** : unlike cameron, i can actually hack a phone

 **BRAIN MAN:** i’ll go see ghostbusters if we all agree i’m abbey

 **ME:** you and camille have already seen it!

 **MILLIE:** I AM HOLTZMANN

 **MILLIE:** THE BADASS ONE

 **LINUS-BO-BINUS:** the hot one you mean

 **MILLIE:** well yes obvs that too

 **BRAIN MAN:** we really have too much time on our hands for a group of people in our line of work

 **MILLIE:** cameron can be erin. nerdy + fancy pedigree

 **MILLIE:** linus will be patty. even tho patty has common sense and linus does not

 **LINUS-BO-BINUS:** Excuse me.

 **MILLIE:** ur excused. 7:30 showing. be there or be square.

 **ME:** i’m square

 **BRAIN MAN:** yeah, we’ll be there.

 **BRAIN MAN:** ignore him, he just lost his fish game.

 **ME:** it’s not about fish!!!!

 **MILLIE:** u two really do make this too easy

 **MILLIE:** mwah

 **MILLIE:** see u all there losers

 

 

 

“We need peppers.”

“You hate peppers.”

“I’m actually an adult who can manage my own dietary intake—” Cameron raises his eyebrow, to which Kirsten continues, “—and also Fischer insisted.”

Cameron frowns. “I’m not sure I’m comfortable with the idea of Fischer cooking for us all.”

Kirsten chuck the box of pasta into the cart, overtop Cameron’s protests—she never reads the backs of carts, she’s going to get cancer, she’s going to grow a third eyeball, she’s going to eat _way too many preservatives,_ blah, blah, blah. She’s heard it before. “Fischer is an adult, I’m sure he can manage dinner. Besides, it’s his stupid house party.”

“That he’s only hosting so we can see if our suspect shows up and outs himself as a dirty cop.”

Kirsten nods. “Yeah, that too.”

 

By the time they make it to the till Cameron’s managed to put back about half of Kirsten’s choices in favour of his own, and Kirsten’s tossed six different kinds of desserts into the cart while he wasn’t looking. Hey, if the LAPD is going to bankroll a _dinner party_ they might as well do some of their own shopping while they’re at it.

They’re in the middle of checking out when Cameron notices. “Wait, why do you need _two_ hazelnut spreads?”

Their clerk scans the first one. Kirsten waits until she’s got the second one in her hands before saying, “Well, one for my place, one for yours.”

“I already have some at my place.”

“No you don’t.”

Cameron halts, a tomato in his hand. “What do you mean I don’t? I just bought one last month.”

Kirsten plucks the tomato from his hands and puts it on the conveyer belt.

“That was last month,” she says, when Cameron doesn’t move.

“Who goes through that much hazelnut in a _month_?”

“It was a very stressful month.”

“You have your own!”

“Well I’m frequently stressed out at your apartment, it only makes sense to have one there.”

Cameron shakes his head. “How are you so _tiny_? You’re telling me you’ve been so stressed out this last month that you’ve gone through _two_ of these things? They’re full of sugar!”

Kirsten keeps on unpacking the cart. “Well, we’ve had a few more cases this month than normal.”

“Do you need me to ask Maggie to slow it down or—”

She glances up at the genuine concern in his voice. He’s frowning at her, an innocent bag of asparagus being crushed in his grasp.

She goes to rescue it. “No, that’s not it. I just like knowing it’s at your place, okay?”

“Okay Stretch, if you’re sure.”

“I’m sure.”

“We’re not buying another one next month though.”

“What?” She shuffles forward, returning the cashier’s smile absently as they make their way to the till, “Why not?”

Cameron throws his hands up. “Because! That’s so unhealthy! We could take up running or something—”

“I already run.”

“Then _yoga_. I know a great studio downtown, we can swing by on our way to the lab.”

“I hate yoga,” Kirsten frowns, “and I’m pretty sure yoga hates me back.”

“Kirsten.”

“ _Cameron_.”

There’s a giggle, and Kirsten blinks for a second, thrown that the sound could come out of Cameron’s throat. But he’s staring right back at her, and they both turn to the cashier, who’s got a hand over her mouth and seems to be highly amused.

“Sorry,” the girl says, “it’s just—you two are so cute.”

“Uh…thanks?” Kirsten says.

She rushes to explain. “Me and my girlfriend have the same argument every shopping trip. Just—not about that. She doesn’t think we need so much tea in the house but it’s my comfort thing so I tend to hoard it in our cupboards, even when we aren’t even close to low.”

Kirsten’s pretty sure she’s blushing. She _knows_ Cameron is grinning.

“See hun,” he says pointedly, “you should start drinking _tea_.” He leans over to squint at the cashier’s nametag. “Candace here has the right idea.”

Candace giggles again. It seems to be her default sound. “Oh no, I wouldn’t never criticize the spread. That stuff is _gold_. To each their own, right?”

Kirsten elbows Cameron. “There you go _babe_. And my own says you need one at your place as well, so c’mon and give the nice lady your card.”

This shuts him right up and they pay and make it all the way to the car before Cameron even bothers to look at the receipt.

“Wait, we bought _three_ cakes.”

“One for Fischer, one for me and Camille, and one for your place which I can steal when Camille inevitably eats all of ours after drinking too much wine at Fischer’s house party.”

“Three cakes. And two boxes of powdered donuts.”

“Yeah,” Kirsten sighs, sliding into the passenger seat, “I really don’t have a good excuse for that one.”

 

 

 

Kirsten stumbles out of bed at precisely 8:13 am, which gives her five minutes to be dressed and relatively clean before Camille and Linus burst through the front doors with enough food to feed—well, definitely more than four people.

“Honey we’re _home_ ,” Camille calls, blinking when she sees that it’s Kirsten who opened the door. “Oh. A different honey than expected. Still good, still good.” She leans up and plants a noisy and obnoxious kiss on Kristen’s cheek then breezes past her.

Linus, much more normally, claps her on the shoulder as he walks by. “Morning Kirsten.”

“It is too early for team bonding,” Kirsten decides, to which Linus just laughs.

They trail into the kitchen where Camille is setting down various bags of breakfast foods. It’s not like Cameron’s apartment _isn’t_ stocked with a ridiculous amount of organic and locally sourced whatever it is that he loves to eat, but the agreement is that if you’re not cooking, you’re paying.

Kirsten isn’t cooking, but she also didn’t manage to get out yet to buy anything. Which is probably good, seeing as it looks like Camille and Linus may have bought out an entire grocery store.

“Cameron isn’t up yet.” Kirsten points out.

“Which begs the question of _how_ exactly you’re wearing his sweater,” Camille says. Kirsten glances down at her—at _Cameron’s_ hoodie. She must have put it on in her rush to get up.

“It’s a good sweater,” she says defensively.

It _is._ It’s his grey one, with some sort of really nice, expensive fuzz lining the inside. Perfect for chilly mornings or just generally curling up at night—Kirsten steals it whenever she can, and she’s been figuring out a way to just either spirit it away to her place or outright take it.

Camille waves a hand. “No need to get up in arms. I know how the two of you work—I won’t assume the normal thing, which is terribly couple-y, but instead that you two are _the_ most ridiculous people on the face of this planet and you somehow think amassing large quantities of each other’s clothing is normal.”

“Actually—”

“Although go knows how you even manage to get here early enough to snag a hoodie before either I or Linus is a bit of a miracle. You are _not_ a morning person.”

Kirsten plops into one of the kitchen barstools. “I’m not an anything person, remember?”

“Are you sure you’re a _person_?”

She ducks her head into one of the sleeves of Cameron’s hoodies. “It _is_ too early for this.”

Linus says, “Cameron never lets me borrow his stuff.”

“That’s because you actually _ask_ ,” Kirsten scoffs, successfully sidetracked, “the key is to just _take_.”

“Who’s just taking?” A voice calls from farther in the loft and Kirsten sits up. Cameron emerges from the bedroom, dressed in his pj’s and one of Kirsten’s house robes. Camille just raises an eyebrow at Kirsten and goes back to unpacking.

“Your work wife,” Linus says, hands up defensively. He’s grinning.

Cameron hums. “That’s called sharing, actually.” Kirsten smiles up as he walks over to her and drops a kiss to her forehead. “So, what are we making this morning?”

“Pancakes!” Camille chants, turning around. To her left Linus is half on his own seat, gaping. “I have been _craving_ those banana ones you made last week like it’s crack or something. I don’t know what your secret ingredient is Goodkin but I _love it_.”

Kirsten winds her arm around Cameron’s back, tugging him in closer. “It’s cinnamon, actually.”

“ _Hey_ ,” he accuses, mock-affronted, “don’t go giving away all my secrets.”

“Cinnamon isn’t really a secret.”

“But it was _power._ ” Kirsten looks up at him, biting her lip, and Cameron reads her correctly and kisses her good morning properly. “Now Camille will have no reason not to—”

“ _Oh my god!_ ” Camille shouts, properly facing them this time.

“—do that,” Cameron finishes. Kirsten can feel him smiling against her lips. She kisses him back, quick, just once, and then leans over to look at Camille.

“What?” she deadpans.

“I—you—wait, _what_? How long has all this—” Camille gestures to the two of them, Cameron at Kirsten’s back, Kirsten propped up against him, “—been going on?”

Linus slams a hand down on the table, cheering triumphantly. “I _called_ it! I win the pool! It’s still the current year!”

Kirsten snorts. “There was a pool?”

“And you _lost_?” Cameron asks Camille.

“Of course there was a pool—a really extensive pool, in which I absolutely cached in some earnings, somewhere. I didn’t think you two would _ever_ get your shit together.” Camille accuses.

“Well we did,” Cameron replies.

“And we should get fifty percent of the earnings because of it,” Kirsten holds her hand out to Linus, “C’mon, cash up.”

“No _way_ ,” he says defensively, “I worked way too hard to get it. There were algorithms and contingency plans and everything.”

“Alright, I need to hear all about this.” Cameron declares. He reaches over to Linus’ seat and fist bumps him. “Congrats dude.”

“And _I_ need to hear about the two of you! Like, stat! Like it’s an actual physical need and also I want to know what my winnings are.” Camille adds.

“Fine,” Cameron says, just as Kirsten goes, “But first, pancakes.”

Camille complies with a long suffering sigh, to which Cameron grins and slips in to the seat next to Kirsten’s.

“Do you want to know the real secret to an _awesome_ Sunday brunch?” he whispers, leaning in close. Beyond them is a whole other world, with friends and family and new traditions. Kirsten rocks forward into him.

She smiles. “Mmm. Of course.”

“Morning kisses.”

“Is that so?”

“Yup,” Cameron nods, face warm and soft and serious, despite the quirk of his lips, “it’s a scientific fact. There have been papers and everything.”

She laughs. “Oh, well, who am I to argue with science.”

“Exactly,” he agrees, and leans in to kiss her again.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> as always you can find me on tumblr at
> 
>  
> 
> [msbricolage](http://msbricolage.tumblr.com/)
> 
>  
> 
> !


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